


Playing the part

by nanasekei



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 06:09:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: “Stop squeezing my hand so tight.”





	Playing the part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willidothefandango (nagth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagth/gifts).



> A tiny thing for Fan's stocking <3

“Stop squeezing my hand so tight.”  
  
Steve’s fingers immediately loosened, letting Tony’s hand go on top of the table. His eyes darted away, towards the other side of the room, where a speaker whose species Tony didn’t recognize was giving them a welcome speech they should, technically, be paying attention to.  
  
Regret pierced inside Tony like spikes. God, what the fuck was wrong with him? It wasn’t really Steve’s fault, that they were in this position.   
  
If anything, it was Tony’s fault. Tony had been the one who thought it would be a good idea to get into an argument with Steve right when they were on a video call with the Guardians, and Tony had decided it would be a good idea to reply when Clint made a comment with a “hush, Mom and Dad are fighting” joke.  
  
Of course, Drax had been the one on the other end.  
  
Which, unbeknown to them, resulted in all the Guardians getting the false information that Steve and Tony were,  _literally_ , the Avengers’ parents. Apparently, the ignorance of human biology was so deep throughout the galaxy that no one thought it was kind of a strange notion (Peter Quill, conveniently, didn’t think to correct them. As soon as Tony could, he was going to burn that Zune). It ended up reaching the Sovereign, who definitely didn’t respond well to being lied to.  
  
Hence, the handholding.  
  
So Tony didn’t have any room for complaining, really. Steve was just playing the part. It wasn’t his fault that holding up this lie was turning out to be harder on Tony’s heart than he could handle. No, Steve was just playing the role of a dedicated, loving husband – touching Tony’s waist when they arrived to the conference and spoke to the other delegates, smiling at his every word, leaning in his personal space and, yeah, holding his hand.   
  
Torture didn’t even begin to describe it.  
  
The problem was that, among everything, it was so easy – so tempting – to… Well, to buy it. Against his better judgement, Tony felt himself wanting to lean even closer to Steve, touch him even more. He had to constantly pull himself back, trying to remember that none of it – those touches, those glances,  _Steve_ – was really his. But fuck, was it hard. And it was even harder right then, sitting at that goddamn boring meeting, with Steve’s hand covering his over the table, a soft, warm weight over Tony’s fingers.  
  
So fucking warm, Tony had thought. Was every part of Steve’s body like this, like a furnace? Would he be warm if Tony pulled him closer, landed an arm over his shoulders, rested his head on the curve of his neck, maybe slid onto his lap—  
  
Anyway, yeah, Tony had to cut it short.  
  
But Steve didn’t have to look so…  _hurt_  about it. Sure, maybe Tony had been a little rude, but the way his hand snapped back – so fast, so immediate – made something tighten in Tony’s chest.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve mumbled. Tony didn’t like how his voice sounded. He had half-expected Steve to snap back right at him, which would have been reasonable, considering both their track record of snapping at each other over the smallest things and the fact that the not-so-small thing in question was Tony’s fault in the first place. Instead, Steve sounded honestly regretful, almost guilty. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
_Oh_ , Tony thought, a little surprised. Had he stumbled onto something? Was that a thing? He eyed Steve curiously. Yeah, he realized, seeing Steve’s discomfort, the way he frowned and stared down at the table. That was definitely a thing.  
  
Tony sighed. Goddamn, that sad old man. Tony had seen wounded puppies easier to ignore.  
  
“Don’t worry,” he heard himself saying, softly, closer to Steve’s ear. Then, because seeing Steve sad did weird things to his brain, he added, “You didn’t,” and reached for Steve’s hand again, turning his palm and intertwining his fingers over the table.  
  
Steve’s cheeks flushed a lovely pink that matched his lips.  _Fuck my life_ , Tony thought, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.   
  
Okay, he told himself. He could do this. He could match Steve’s acting skills and live through the rest of the trip without having a heart attack. Maybe.  
  
And if he let his thumb stroke Steve’s knuckles, drawing small, light circles on his skin—well, he was just playing the part.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
